Soul Searching
by smile7499
Summary: Post-Hogwarts: Ron is dead, Hermione has fallen in and out of love, Ginny and has been attacked by Dementors, and the only person who can save them all is Harry, who is battling certain demons himself. Angsty!Harry, Angry!Hermione. NOT H/Hr.
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: I don't own this  
  
Souls Searching  
  
"Damn" the man muttered under his breath as the taxi sped past him. It was starting to rain, and he didn't like the idea of signaling the Knight Bus. Too many memories. The blank stares of his loved ones still haunted this man, Harry Potter. He had even started to take muggle drugs just so that he wasn't haunted by Ginny's face, pale white, as the Dementers came down upon her. He had stopped going to visit her at St. Mungos, every time the weight of the ring in his pocket had felt heavier. But now it was just a dull ache.  
  
He trudged through the empty streets, not even caring enough to bewitch his shoes to stay dry. He didn't use a lot of magic anymore. Doing everything the muggle way made life seem more...real. Or as real as it could be without Ginny.  
  
Harry was still baffled by why she had been targeted. It was two years ago, and they were in the park. Harry instantly felt to his pocket, where the ring had stayed. He was going to give it to her that day in the park, at least until the Dementers came. What baffled Harry the most was that while Ginny was scared, she seemed like she already had a premonition of what was to happen. She didn't even have a chance to say goodbye to him before the Dementers used their worst weapon; their kiss. Dementers were horrible creatures, they fed on your happy memories, but when they kissed you they stole your soul. You were alive but you didn't even know it. What an unfair way for Ginny to meet her end, along with Draco Malfoy.  
  
Harry had never really liked Malfoy, but he made Hermione so happy, and Harry thought she deserved that after what had happened to Ron in their sixth year. And it was all Harry's fault. This was why Harry had agreed to help save Draco's life. Even if he was a Death Eater. Even if he had killed Snape, the spy. Harry owed Hermione a chance for happiness. But the plan had gone awry. Draco was caught by none other than the bumbling Ministry, and soon the papers were plastered with reports of how the Boy who Lived was associated with the Death Eater, who was later kissed himself.  
  
This was why Harry wasn't very surprised when no one objected him leaving England after the ritual. Harry had defeated the Dark Lord, and the spell would last exactly one year. More than enough time for Harry to cause some trouble.  
  
No one had protested Harry's departure. Even the Weasleys knew that Harry had been the true cause to Percy's traitorous ways and Fred and George being sent to St. Mungos, unable to recognize their own wives, or even their own twin brother. Hermione was still mourning for Draco, nearly 5 months after his death, when Harry had announced his departure. She said her good-byes plainly enough, but once they were alone, she started weeping and confessing her worries. "Harry, the world is falling to pieces! Ron is dead, Draco and Ginny are barely even real, and Harry, I don't want to loose you too. The Death Eaters will come for you, but Harry, you are all I have left. My life is in your hands."  
  
For these reasons, Harry had relocated to Los Angles, "the city of lost souls." Harry had felt it was almost ironic, as Harry was one of the true lost souls, wandering on earth for no purpose. He had gotten a clerical job. He stayed late and came in early. The pay was bad, the options were horrible, and Harry's landlady was threatening to evict him; but none of that really mattered.  
  
His world seemed to slip from his fingers, and yet he wasn't even trying to grasp it back. But suddenly Harry was violently thrust back into the real world, or to put it better, thrust back into a wall. Harry blinked several times, and each time he opened his eyes, the creature was still there.  
  
Horrible, slimy, Harry knew that he was an agent for the Death Eaters. Too cowardly to come to fetch his themselves, they sent this lowly demon to attack him. But although they were cowardly, they were not dumb. They had sent some sort of demon with a hard shell, and as much as he might, not one spell or one hex seemed to help. Finally, Harry tried hollering /expecto patronum/! But to his horror, the charm hadn't worked. Was his life really this bad that we couldn't even convince one happy memory to come up to the surface with his bleary thoughts?  
  
Harry's eyes started to glaze as the demon continued to strangle him, denying him of one of the only things he needed in life. The street was blurring, and surely, harry must have been hallucinating, for he saw an African American man run straight towards the demon, brandishing an axe.  
  
Harry wanted to warm the man, but selfishly stopped. Maybe this man could save him before he was killed himself? Harry's breath suddenly came back as the demon's grip loosened from his neck. He felt a cool breeze of air where the demon's foul hands had been, and looked up to the man, who had yet to acknowledge him.  
  
"Hullo?" Harry asked tentatively. "Er, thanks for saving me from that demon."  
  
With this, the man looked up at him in surprise and respect. "Yeah, that was one nasty demon. I wonder what it has against you?"  
  
Harry sighed. There really was no way to escape England, even if he was gone physically. "I dunno. I really seem to irritate people." This made the man laugh, and after introducing himself as Gunn, he directly Harry back to his office.  
  
Harry had followed this Gunn man through the streets until they reached an abandoned lot. But yet, after Harry squinted at it for some time, he saw past the intricate spell and to his relief he saw a comfortable hotel. He walked briskly up to the door, and found a hard slab of nothing.  
  
"Damn! What spell can do that!" Harry exclaimed as he rubbed his sore nose.  
  
Gunn laughed nervously, "Oh, just a spell to, you know, protect us. Sorry, the entrance is over here." Gunn lead Harry to a concealed side door, and when it opened, the sight of a dead demon lying on the floor welcomed Harry and Gunn.  
  
A man and a woman were examining it, and when Gunn cleared his throat, the woman looked up startled at the sight of their guest. "Oh, welcome to Angel Investigations! Don't worry, we're not usually this messy. We're actually helping to make some props for a science fiction movie!" she said, gesturing to the dead carcass on the floor.  
  
Gunn cleared his throat again. "Cordelia, it's okay. He's fine."  
  
"Oh!" she said flustered. "Well, umm, make yourself at home, and I will be with you once I clean up from this demon gook."  
  
Harry staggered over to the nearest couch. It had been a long night, and while the demon attack had been a lot, the thoughts of the past still throbbed, only lessened from several minutes ago.  
  
No less than twenty minutes later, Cordelia came back into the room, looking much happier, and definitely cleaner. She sat down, picked up a piece of paper, and started to jot notes. "What's your name?"  
  
"Harry Potter." Harry liked when people didn't flinch at the sound of his name, and Cordelia herself just nodded and wrote it down.  
  
"Would there be any motive for a demon to attack you?"  
  
"Sure," Harry replied, "I really piss people off." He said this with a scornful grin.  
  
"I notice, Harry, that you have an English accent. How long did you live in England?"  
  
"Until last year."  
  
"May I inquire why you left?"  
  
Harry looked Cordelia straight in the eyes. "Why are you here? I'm here for the same reason. I'm running away. Aren't we all? Isn't this city itself the City of Lost Souls?"  
  
Cordelia sighed and looked away from Harry and at the man, who was still inspecting the demon. Poor Angel. "Yes," she murmured absentmindedly to herself. "And Angel is the biggest one."  
  
Harry gave her a look. "How so? Why is that man's life so much worse than mine?"  
  
Cordelia gave an unthinking sigh. "it's not Angel's life that's the problem. Angel is dead. A child of the night, who is inflicted with a human soul, unable to ever know true happiness. A vampire with a conscience."  
  
Harry gave her a startled look. "A vampire with a soul? How is that possible?"  
  
"Oh you know. Some old gypsy curse which will give him a soul until he knows true happiness." Cordelia would have elaborated, but just then she saw a man and woman stagger into the office, the man holding the woman under immense weight. "Oh, God, Westley and Fred!" She hurried off to go help her fallen comrades.  
  
Harry didn't even notice this whole chain of events. His mind was focused on what Cordelia had said. It was possible to bring back a person's soul. He got up, knowing that he wouldn't fail Ginny again, and dissapperated.  
  
A/n- yes, I'm sorry if you don't like the ships. Blame my muse. She forced me! I myself am a faithful Hermione/Ron, which is why I had to kill him off. I couldn't stand watching him without Hermione!  
  
Yes, I know there was a slight crossover, but this fic isn't a crossover, the whole "Angel" section was just there to move along the plot.  
  
Did you like it? Did you hate it? Reviews would be much appreciated! 


	2. Chapter Two

A/n- woah. That was too much information for you to process, right? I know, its confusing. But you'll get the picture soon enough. This is going to be less angst this chapter and more action. But never fear! Harry will be self-loathing later on!  
  
Thanks for the reviews and again, I apologize if you don't like my ships. My muse forced me to use them!  
  
Ps- I'm sorry I took so long to update! But I just bought a new computer, so they should help me write when it's more accessible to me!  
  
~*~  
  
Hermione sat down to her take-out. She opened it and smelled the pad-Thai, one of Draco's favorite meals. Her meal was in fact, in honor of him. Today was the day that had had been kissed, the day that legally made Hermione a widow after less than two months of marriage.  
  
Not many people knew that Hermione and Draco had been married. They wouldn't have understood. It seemed to Hermione that even Harry, her closest friend, never understood what Hermione saw in Draco. But Hermione couldn't help it. She was in love. Not with a perfect Weasley, or the Boy Who Lived, making out a fairy tale romance. No. Hermione was in love with a Death Eater. But the Amazing thing about being with Draco was that when he held her, she always forgot that fact.  
  
Hermione and Draco had an unwritten rule. They never spoke of politics or good and bad when they were together. They were neither Light nor Dark, but just two lovers who wanted to always be together.  
  
The wedding had been a very private ceremony. A muggle minister had done it, and Harry was their only guest, acting as witness to the marriage.  
  
Their marriage was one of inconvenience. They only saw each other three times in those first two months after their marriage. They always met in a safe spot, neutral ground, which was protected by magic that not even the Darkest of wizards, not even Harry, could break them.  
  
It was selfish to send out Harry to save Draco when he had been captured. And foolish too, for it had ultimately killed Draco and sent Harry across the pound to forget that any of the problems had ever existed.  
  
But on this night, Hermione liked to remember all the good moments she had felt lying with Draco, his arms around her. She curled into bed and to her it seemed that Draco still held her in his arms.  
  
***  
  
Harry woke up groggy and disoriented. Had he just come back from a bar? It was possible, but Harry looked at the clock that said 6 o'clock p.m. No ladies of his caliber were out this early. Then, it struck him. The conversation he had with the girl, a vampire with a soul.  
  
Harry got up and washed his face. He had to make a plan of action. First, to the muggle bookshops. Sometimes muggles would stumble across things that would prove quite useful to the educated witch or wizard. Of course, all the bookstores in the world could never compare to the Hogwarts Library, but with Harry's self-imposed exile that was the last place he wanted to go. Plus, Harry felt compelled to not let anyone find out about his secret. It was a gut feeling, maybe a message from Ginny, and Harry had been in enough predicaments to know when to follow your heart.  
  
Harry fixed himself a simple breakfast of black coffee ("a meal in a mug") and set out to find a bookstore that would serve his needs. After looking in the phone book for nearly an hour, he found a local occult store, which he hoped would hold the key to Ginny's soul.  
  
***  
  
Anika sat at the counter of the Gothic Dungeon, tapping her hands on the counter. Business had been slow all week, and the only people who seemed to frequent her store were the "Goth kids" as she liked to call them. Dressed in black, pierced in places she didn't even know existed.  
  
Sometimes Anika wondered why she even bothered to keep the store open. Her husband was long gone, and her child was dead. Today the sticky heat permeated the shop, and brought her thoughts back to her childhood; the days of yore. She had a duty which had run in her line for ages. Keep the knowledge alive. The intricate spells and potions which had passed through the Gypsy heritage for years now. Even as she thought of the powerful words, she heard the sounds of her youth in the background.  
  
Suddenly the sounds were invaded by a foreign sound of the bell ringing. She looked up at the man who had some in. Medium stature, messy black hair, obviously not a serious buyer. His cheap clothing indicated that it would take a month's pay to purchase of the items found in the store. But Anika got the impression that the man was looking for something much more valuable.  
  
He walked up to her. "Do you carry spell books? And if you do, where can I find them?" he asked politely.  
  
Anika smiled. "Over in the right-hand corner. Do you need help looking for anything?"  
  
The man seemed started by the question but shrugged off Anika's offer. He was sure he could manage on his own.  
  
Over three hours later, Anika was still watching the man struggle to find what he was looking for. He came back over to her.  
  
"It seems my judgement was impaired from a /slight/ hangover earlier." He said.  
  
Anika nodded. She knew that he didn't want to tell her what he was looking for, but she had ways to help him. "Give me your hand" she commanded.  
  
The man flinched. "I don't have a very good experience with palm reading. Or any divination of that matter!"  
  
Anika laughed at him. "Oh, don't be silly! Its not like I'm going to predict your death!" With this, she began studying the lines and curves of the man's hand. It seemed like a very morbid hand, to be perfectly honest. The lifeline was very short, and the love line stopped, and then started strong again only to fade out halfway across the mans hand. Anika studied the man's hand, trying to uncover what he needed. Then, suddenly, she saw what he was seeking. It was as plain as day if you were an experienced palmist who also happened to be a Gypsy. "Oh, I see what you want, dear." With this, she looked straight into his eyes; they were so green. "Are you sure you really need /this/ spell? The consequences are so great."  
  
With these words, the man flared, and anger rose in his eyes. "I need to find how to defeat him. There's only a couple months left, you know! And Ginny is the key, I know she is, for my own sanity, and for my strength! I need to do this, no matter the cost!"  
  
Anika solemnly obliged. "Very well. I wish you would reconsider. The spell is very powerful, and has corrupted almost all of its casters. But I will find it for you. And all the ingredients too. For I think this spell may impact more than just this /Ginny/ you speak of."  
  
***  
  
Hermione sat up in her queen-sized bed, big enough to fit a couple, sweating, doubled over with dry heaves. Hermione had tried to adapt to the nightmares, but this night's vision was worse than ever.  
  
It seemed that they were all the same. Draco in some moral danger which she couldn't get him out of, and then him pulling her down too. But tonight's dream had been different. It was Harry. He was wandering over a barren land, calling out Ginny's name. Then, he finally saw Ginny standing on a dune, but she was blocked by some unknown force. Harry took out a key, but buzzards attacked him until he ran; and Hermione had awoken.  
  
Hermione busied herself by making her bed and cleaning her room before she went downstairs. She picked up the newspaper and read the headline, declaring that there was less that four months left until Voldemort would return. Hermione threw down the paper and sobbed into her hands.  
  
Everyone who mattered left her. Ron was dead, Draco was just a living corpse, and Harry, her last hope, was gone. He knew how much he had meant to her. Her well being, her life. But Harry never wrote. All she knew was that Harry was in America, probably forgetting his troubles at a bar, succumbing to the sweet words of drunkenness. Where life didn't matter, where there was no impending doom that would arise within the next months, and where there was no girl hanging onto his life force on the other side of the Atlantic. Hermione stood up and took out a piece of paper and a quill. Tomorrow she would leave this apartment. She would move back with her parents. The rooms were too big to share alone, and the bed was too empty.  
  
~*~  
  
a/n- ahh. Done! I like this changing viewpoints! I must experiment more with it!  
  
I would like to thank my lovely Beta- Landry Anne. I'm very sorry about Draco, but he's not dead! Sheesh! I would never kill Draco! (even if he is an annoying little ferret)  
  
and now, for the thanks!  
  
Thanks to : Vive, Kara, phoenix6545, Curt, Michelle Wood, Kiara5542 and Ashley!  
  
I love you all!  
  
Ps- Landry- stop whining. (  
  
PPs- to join a great message board, go to http://vh.7dragons.net! it's Virtual Hogwarts! 


	3. Chapter 3

a/n- welcome back to the three ring circus! Harry's sad, Hermione's sad, what do you know, they're all a little pathetic. Anyway, sorry for the wait. I had the conversations done a while ago, but you can thank my lovely beta reader, Landry Anne for not sending them back.  
  
Oh, and ten points to your house if you can find the quote from my favorite movie of all time!  
  
Without further ado, Chapter 3 of Soul Searching!  
  
~*~  
  
"Come on Mick! I promise I'll pay the tab as soon as I get back!"  
  
Mick looked at Harry incredulously. "Yeah, sure, kid. You will go running back to England and never pay me back!"  
  
Harry looked at Mick, worriedly. "Mick! I'm your friend! Your best customer! Without me, you would have no one in this fleabag bar of yours!"  
  
"Oh! So now it's fleabag! Only two days ago you were sitting at this same bench, feasting on wine, spirits and merriment!"  
  
Harry sighed. Sometimes he wondered why Mick hadn't become a Shakespearean scholar, instead of owning the bar. He certainly didn't look the type. He was small and compact, and had a slightly greasy look to him.. "Look, Mick. I don't know when I'm coming back, or if I will come back, at all."  
  
"What, running back to the motherland to get yourself killed? Do you find me such a fool?"  
  
Harry grinned. "Something like that. Look Mick, I'll leave a deposit. Here are the keys to my apartment. I would say that you will have a month to fence anything you want before my landlady uses brute force to get in." With this, Harry pressed a set of keys into Mick's hand.  
  
Mick's eyes softened. "What's the matter, kid, not coming back? Gonna make a permanent residence in jolly ol' England?"  
  
Harry sighed again. "I don't know Mick. I don't think I'll be coming back. For all that its worth, you were a good listener, even if I didn't have much to say."  
  
"Come back, kid. You're too young to lose your dreams."  
  
"I have no dreams." Harry said emptily.  
  
"Just come back, kid. Without you blowing your paycheck here every week, I wouldn't be able to feed my family."  
  
Harry gave a shallow laugh. "You have no family, Mick. So long. And if anyone ever asks, you never knew me."  
  
With this, Harry walked out of Mick's bar, leaving Mick to try to understand what was going on inside the complex mind of Harry Potter. Mick just sighed and went back to cleaning the bar.  
  
~*~  
  
Hermione looked around her apartment. It was spotless. Not one thing of its previous resident remained, except for Hermione herself. She had been planning this for a while. The apartment was too big, too unwelcoming, to live alone. But no, she would not think of Draco today. Today she was going to move. Going to finally leave this place, and go back to London. The thought of London made her face flush. Back to her parents; her childhood.  
  
Hermione sighed. It was no use going back to that topic. She had become an adult in one moment. When she had left Hogwarts after her fourth year, she knew she had lost something. It had taken her several years to realize that it was her innocence.  
  
"Goodbye! And I hope your next inhabitant has better luck!" With this final farewell, she turned on her heels, and walked briskly out the door, to the Knight Bus already waiting for her.  
  
~*~  
  
Harry walked slowly out the door. It was still dark out, and the reluctance of the sun to come up seemed to signify something greater. He breathed a deep gulp of the dirty Los Angeles air. England didn't have air like this. England's air was stale, it tasted of stagnation. Los Angeles, on the other hand, seemed alive. It held electricity in the air, it buzzed, a sense similar to after a spell was completed. Los Angeles was moving, and it wasn't going to wait for Harry.  
  
He had left everything in his apartment, true to his word. Being a Gryffindor had left him with some nobility, enough to know not to go back on a promise, if not enough to leave him with a sense of bravery.  
  
With little difficulty, and a simple /wingardium leviosa/ on his baggage, Harry was on his way, up the street to the bus station, routed for the airport. He had tried to take only the necessities. Several robes, jeans, his broom, invisibility cloak and wand, which was secured in his pocket, shrunk down to a reasonable size. Hedwig had been dead for several years, so there was no need to carry a bulky owl cage also.  
  
After standing on the corner for an unidentifiable time, the bus finally came. Harry had contemplated apperating to England, but considering his recent assault, he felt it was more appropriate to fly, and not by broom; by plane. He was posing as a muggle, after all. These measures were meant to keep him safe from the threat of the Death Eaters. "Only three months until he will return," he muttered to himself, before he fell into a restless sleep.  
  
The airport was a hard place to navigate, and Harry was so lost he was considering whispering /point me/ to navigate through the maze of gates and terminals. This was one thing that Harry believed wizards were superior in; they didn't have to find their way through an airport to get somewhere. But at least this was better than Floo Powder, Harry reflected. He had never really liked that mode of transportation, and after he had found himself in Knockturn Alley, he had cemented his belief.  
  
When Harry had looked back at the plane ride, most of it was fuzzy. He had fallen back to old habits, and had downed a considerable amount of alcohol, enough to drive away the demons of his consciousness. It seemed to him that soon enough, he was back in England, at Heathrow Airport.  
  
He took a deep breath. But instead of tasting a staleness common of England, he felt something else. The people all around him were oblivious to this, but even in this completely muggle place, he could feel it. The sense buzzed through the air. It whispered to him. Fear, apprehension, it coursed through the air, emissions from even the few wizards who clouded the walkways of the busy terminal. Determined by this emotion, he pushed past the other people in the airport, towards a taxi.  
  
Harry's head pounded, a reminder of the alcohol he had drank during his journey. The site of the hotel gave him some hope. A bed, where he could lie, where he could find some escape from the relentless fear flowing through the air.  
  
Harry went into his room and slept. He wasn't sure for how long, but when he awoke, he felt almost alive. This was an unfamiliar feeling for Harry, who was accustomed to a pounding headache accompanying a hangover. But today Harry felt different. He had a purpose, a goal. And he knew what he had to do.  
  
He took out a phonebook. "Gallager, Glass, Gomes, Granger. There! Just off Regent Street…"  
  
Harry wasn't sure why he had gone to Hermione's parents first. Maybe they could tell him about her since he had left. She had been sending owls weekly to Los Angeles, but Harry had never written back. He had nothing to say.  
  
He knocked on the door, and to his surprise Hermione stood at the doorframe. She was a tall woman, and had her fuzzy hair pulled back. Her face held a mixture of surprise and anger, but her eyes were stone. She beckoned him into the house, and led him into a parlor, where there were several pictures of her on the mantel. She went over and picked up one, and sat down on a couch across from Harry.  
  
"Hermione. I'm back." Harry looked at her with a sigh of relief.  
  
She studied the picture and put it on the table separating them. "Oh, yes, you're back. For what? Just felt like finally getting out of your drunken stupor and coming home? Well, this isn't your home anymore Harry."  
  
Harry picked up the frame. It held a picture of him, Hermione and Ron, taken in their fourth year. He looked up at her, his eyes pleading. "I don't want to talk about this."  
  
"Oh, so you think that you can just walk back in here, and everything will be okay?"  
  
"Hermione, we're not the same people we used to be."  
  
"And that's the truth. You're a drunkard."  
  
Harry cut her off. "And you have let your hate consume you. I did nothing to you."  
  
"Nothing. Of course you did nothing. You have my life in your hands, and what do you do? Drink it all away! Do you think that helps?" Her face was savage now, but her eyes were still cold, forbidden.  
  
"It dulls the pain."  
  
"Life is pain, Harry! Anyone telling you differently is trying to sell you something. But that's what separates you from me. I deal with my pain. And you run from it!"  
  
"Hermione, I never meant to hurt you!"  
  
"Well, you have! And I can't forget it! Harry, everyone is gone! Ron is dead, Draco is gone, even Ginny…"  
  
"Ginny is not gone! Unlike some people, I will never give up my hope!"  
  
Hermione stood up, knocking over the table. She towered over the slight frame of Harry, and slapped him in the face. "Oh, yes, Harry. Very healthy. Live in the past, where you can pretend that none of this" she made a grand gesture, "ever happened! You can pretend what you want, you can drink what you cannot pretend, but you cannot forget that he is coming! Only three months left! And what are you going to do then?"  
  
"Why should I have this weight! I have never asked for anything!"  
  
"Well, you know, Harry, at least you have the opportunity to do something! Some of us are forced to watch from the sidelines because we cannot make our opinion heard! You have the opportunity to do something great! And what do you do? You run."  
  
"I do not want this responsibility."  
  
"Who says you have a choice?! Think of Albus! Think of Snape! Think of Ron." She grabbed the picture from Harry, and held it to her breast.  
  
"Ron is dead and there is nothing I can do about it!"  
  
"At least he made a difference. He's still making more of a difference than you ever did!"  
  
With this statement, he stopped and looked into his hands.  "God.  Look at what this place has reduced us to.  We are still children, Hermione.  Can't you feel it?  I've been holding back my childhood.  Hermione, people aren't supposed to die."  
  
"But they do, Harry, and sitting here isn't going to help."  She looked up at him, straight into his blinding eyes.  "why have you come back?"  
  
Harry gave her a strong look.  He felt to his pocket and pulled out the ring.  So strange, he thought, it feels so light.  "I have a plan."  
  
Hermione looked up at him, her face finally betraying her, letting out one tear.  
  
  
  
~*~  
  
a/n- There is a deficit of angry Hermione stories. So, I though I would do my part and fill in that missing genre.  
  
If you would like to guess what the quote is, put it in review, and five extra points if you can figure out what movie it's from! ;)  
  
Like always, reviews will be enjoyed, printed out and pasted on my wall.  
  
Flames will be laughed at and fed to Landry.  
  
And, if you would like to discuss this story, Harry Potter in general, or just have a burning question, drop me a line at Smile7499@aol.com. 


	4. Chapter 4

Title: Soul Searching (04)  
  
Author name: Smile7499  
  
Author email: demonkitty334@aol.com  
  
Category: General  
  
Keywords: harry golden boy dementors  
  
Rating: PG-13  
  
Spoilers: SS/PS, CoS, PoA, GoF, Buffy the Vampire Slayer  
  
Summary: Post-Hogwarts: Ron is dead, Hermione has grown cold after lost love, Ginny and Draco have been attacked by Dementors, the Ministry is corrupt, and the only person who can save them all is Harry, who is battling certain demons himself.  
  
DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. I also do not own anything concerning Buffy the Vampire Slayer. I don't own this Harry Potter, and frankly, I wouldn't want to.  
  
Author notes: Thanks for the reviews, all, erm... 5 or so of you. But I'm still dragging this on. Because I like it.  
  
To address something someone said in a review- I guess this story doesn't have edge of your seat action. Things will happen though. If you want edge of your seat action, go to ff.n and go read a Mary Sue. Or, you could stay here and see where this goes.  
  
*blushes* sorry for the rant.  
  
anyway, if you like this, hate this, or just need someone to talk to, contact me at:  
  
email: Demonkitty334@aol.com  
  
im: Demonkitty334  
  
~*~ "I don't see why you can't just issue the warning, Cornelius!" Arthur Weasley was tired. Tired of trying to do anything meaningful in his newly appointed position of deputy minister, apparently just a token title. Tired of trying to convince Fudge to see logic. For the past three months he had lost 40 gray hairs. He should know. He had counted.  
  
Fudge gave a haphazard look at the balding wizard and turned back to the other members of the meeting. "Ladies and gentlemen, what you are asking me to do is preposterous. You know that the general public doesn't want to be alarmed any more than they already are! Besides, why should we believe that there's only three months before he comes back? Maybe Potter finally did something right and stopped You-Know-Who from coming back for good!"  
  
The rest of the room gave a tired moan. There was no way of getting through to Fudge. The most esteemed members of British wizarding society sat in the room. They were facing a crisis, and it looked like there was no way to stop it. Then, an old witch stood up. "Fudge, we all know that the only reason that you're not issuing the warning is because this is an election year!"  
  
He stood up and leaned over the table, staring straight at her. "Who are you to speak, McGonagall? Just because you are the headmaster of Hogwarts, (or what's left of Hogwarts), doesn't mean that you can make such accusations! You are only here at this meeting as a guest! And may I remind you where your school gets money from every year!?"  
  
"You fool," she said disgustedly. "You are going to run this whole damn world into the ground. I don't care what anyone thinks anymore. Just contact Potter!"  
  
"I will do no such thing! That disgraceful wizard, he aligns with the Light and then attempts to free a convicted Death Eater! No, I will not stand it! Potter can stay in bloody America and get attacked by demons as much as he wants, for all I'm concerned!"  
  
"You are pathetic, Fudge. The boy may have made mistakes, but he's the only one left who might be able to stop Voldemort!" Several gasps were heard around the room as McGonagall muttered the name. "And you let him rot in America, with those bloody Yanks, just waiting to be taken by the Dark!"  
  
"He already has, Headmaster, if you haven't noticed!"  
  
Before she could hex Fudge, McGonagall left the room, cursing under her breath. She was quite a sight to see, her billowing tartan whipping behind her as she stormed out the door. She trudged down the long corridor, searching for a fireplace, anywhere where she could find to get her back to Hogwarts. She had been a fool to come. Fudge didn't care. He never did. She had almost made it to the nearest fireplace, situated in a corner of a room at the far end of the hall, when a hand grabbed her arm. "We can't call Harry, Minerva." She turned around to find the friendly face of Arthur Weasley staring at her. Arthur gave her a faint smile, one of appeasement, and led her to the nearest seat.  
  
She gave him a look of indignation. "I don't see why not! He's our last damn hope."  
  
".and he's going to just sit and laugh as Voldemort rises again. If he cared at all, he never would have left in the first place." finished Arthur.  
  
The headmaster's face grew hard. "Harry was wrong about everything. You know that. But why do you blame it all on him?"  
  
Arthur gave a hollow laugh. "Minerva, you never saw what Harry did for Ron. He was Ron's friend, a better friend Ron could not have asked for."  
  
"Then why blame him if he brought so much happiness into Ron's life?"  
  
"Because Harry couldn't save Ron. He was there. Sitting in the same room. He watched as the bloody rat killed him! And yet he did nothing. Ron would have given his life for Harry. But Harry watched as he died."  
  
McGonagall gave a small sigh. "Oh, Arthur. Harry was just another boy. I wish we could have seen that sooner. He has had so much weight to hold, to keep everyone alive."  
  
"He won't get any sympathy from me. Maybe he should plead his case for Fred and George. Too bad they are in St. Mungos! Or how about Percy, the Death Eater!" He cringed as he let the foul word out of his mouth.  
  
McGonagall laid a hand on Arthur's. "Dark times are ahead, Arthur. A heavy heart cannot help win this battle."  
  
Arthur turned away, and stalked back to the meeting, quite sure that they didn't miss him, while McGonagall walked through the bright green flames of the fire back to Hogwarts.  
  
~*~ Harry took out the chessboard. Ron started setting up the pieces. Harry was white; Harry was always white. He had stopped protesting this arrangement after several years of playing with Ron. Ron was always black.  
  
Harry sighed. "I haven't played in so long, Ron."  
  
Ron's eyes twinkled, his youthful face gave a grin. Ron was 16, and his eyes showed it. But Harry's countenance was slumped. His face was rough with stubble. How many years had it been since Harry had been as young as Ron was now?  
  
Ron's grin broke out into a laugh. "Don't worry. I'll be easier on you." Harry smirked. Ron never went easy. He had skill, and he wasn't embarrassed to show it.  
  
Harry began the game by advancing the king's pawn, and so did Ron. Harry played the game timidly; he didn't want to be aggressive today. Ron noticed.  
  
"Sometimes you have to come out of the shadows, Harry. You'll never get anything done if you hide. But first you must wait until the right time. Don't waste your efforts," he grinned as he took the bishop that Harry had slowly been advancing.  
  
Harry took up the challenge and started darting around the board, taking simple pieces wherever he could. Ron looked slightly impressed by his change of tactic.  
  
With a triumphant look, Harry moved his king and took Ron's knight, leaving only one lone pawn in the wake. At this rate, Harry believed, he could win the game with only a few more moves. But when he looked at Ron, the teenager's face was glowing. He came and took the king from behind, with the simple pawn. "Checkmate," he said with a definite finality.  
  
Harry looked frantically around the board. It was true. Ron had managed to find the one hole in Harry's game, and had used it to his advantage. "I don't believe it!" Harry said exasperatedly.  
  
Ron gave Harry a slight grin. "Sometimes you have to make sacrifices for the good of another, although it may not seem right at the time."  
  
Harry looked up to the eyes of his friend. He was so young, and he would always be this way. It was because of him. "I'm so sorry, Ron." He buried his heavy eyes into his hands.  
  
"I don't blame you, Harry. Don't be a stupid git, go, make amends." Harry looked up at Ron, his face was stone, serious. "Go. Go help those who you still can."  
  
Harry felt a cold sweat, he wanted more answers. But Ron was gone. He was back in his bed, in his hotel. Harry was gasping, the dream felt so real. But no, Ron was dead, and Harry was alive. And that was what mattered.  
  
~*~ Hermione sat stiffly at the booth. She was waiting. Her back was upright. Any potential men immediately swerved when they saw her face. She didn't want to play. Besides, she was tired. She couldn't put in all the effort of love to loose it again. And she would loose it.  
  
As she sat, eating her pudding, she contemplated the future. It was less than three months until Harry's spell would end, bringing back Voldemort, to his full power. And the Death Eaters were already getting ready. The attacks had been more often. They seemed to be attacking almost daily now. Of course, they seemed like simple things from the outside world. The Ministry still managed to hide the whole affair from the muggles. But the blood curdling screams, the illuminated Dark Marks, they were becoming more and more a part of life.  
  
Hermione impatiently checked her watch again. Parvati was late. But Hermione could afford to wait. She had no job, nothing to tie her down. The wizarding world wouldn't hire her, in fear of the retribution of employing a muggle-born. And she wasn't qualified to do muggle work, even if she wanted to. She was a new class of people- not accepted in either world. Even muggle-sympathizers were in danger now. The Weasleys were one of the only pureblooded muggle sympathizers left, and it was only because of Arthur Weasley's good standing in the Ministry. This was not the future that was promised to her. Her outlook was bright, she was a smart witch. And now, it was all lies. No one could fulfill any of the promises.  
  
After three more butterbeers, she finally showed. Hermione had asked to meet with Parvati for information. It was not a social call.  
  
They stiffly shook hands. "Good evening" said Hermione.  
  
Parvati nodded. The tension was obvious in her eyes. It was not safe for her to be meeting with Hermione. The Death Eaters only needed a reason, and then they would attack.  
  
Hermione pressed on. "What is going on? Is the ministry prepared for His return?"  
  
"You know I can't tell you that until I have my payment," Parvati said slyly. She was a good listener, and because of her position in the Ministry, she was able to pick up many pieces of useful information.  
  
"You're charging an old school chum for information!" She said exasperatedly. She took the money out of the purse and put it on the table.  
  
"I'm sorry, Hermione, you know I am. But I have to be able to feed myself. The Ministry made cutbacks last week. I don't know how much longer I'm going to be employed. Plus, you must keep in mind the risk I am putting myself through to be in contact with you."  
  
Hermione sighed. "I know, Parvati, and you know how thankful I am for it. So, what about Arthur Weasley?"  
  
"Of course, Arthur Weasley can't do anything. The poor man. I heard that the only reason he was appointed was because the Ministry felt so horrible about all of his sons' fates. Poor Ron." Said Parvati.  
  
A look of sadness flickered across Hermione's face, but she continued. "What about His return?"  
  
"You know the ways of the ministry. Fudge insists on calling meeting after meeting. I think he's trying to stall the whole subject. Everyone's getting fed up. Today, McGonagall walked out of the meeting."  
  
"Why?!"  
  
"Fudge won't listen to what she's saying. She keeps pressuring him to just swallow his pride and contact Potter, but he refuses."  
  
With this, Hermione's heart leapt. How could she forget about his announcement yesterday; he had a plan. And that was something that they ministry didn't have.  
  
"But really, what is the point of contacting Potter? He's not going to come. McGonagall doesn't see that. Harry doesn't care."  
  
Hermione's head snapped. "Yes. It is a shame. But it's not Harry's fault. It never was. It was all because of Voldemort." She said this last word with scorn, and quietly, as not to alarm anyone else. "It not important whether he /cares/ or not. Harry is the only one who can really do anything."  
  
Parvati gave a small, scornful laugh. "You're just being sentimental, Hermione."  
  
Hermione stood up. "Maybe I am. But it's better than being bitter. I'm tired of being cold." She slammed the rest of the money on the table. "For your help," she said with scorn, before she apperated out of the room.  
  
Parvati stared at the extra money with surprise, and then scooped up the litter of coins. She slinked out of the room, her purse heavier than before, a slight smirk on her face. 


	5. Chapter 5

A/n- ahh, it continues. Finally. There's a very good reason this chapter took so long, it didn't want to agree with me. I don't like this chapter. But I've got something exciting in the works for next chapter. And if you haven't yet, read the companion piece to this! It's my favorite piece of writing I've done in a long time, and I think you'll like it.  
  
~*~  
  
In a matter of seconds, Death Eaters all over the country stopped their activities. Their illegal gaming, their violence, their dinner. Their full attention was on the nearest clock. They were being called to an appointed meeting for their master's services, not by their Lord himself, but Lucius Malfoy. Instantly, they were gone. One would not, could not be late. The punishment was severe.  
  
The Death Eaters appeared in a cold dark room, barely acceptable as a dungeon, in Lucius Malfoy's home. Malfoy stood in front of them, in the spot that would soon hold their master. He was a tall man, but slender, his body barely definable through the layers of fine cloth that we wore; black. The darkness of the room made his face lose perception, his arms and legs disappear. Almost serpentine in appearance. But not quite, only his master could replicate the grace, the deadliness of the snake.  
  
Lucius cleared his throat, and put on a mask, which he had produced from a fold of his robe. A small smile was perceptible on his lips, even under the lip of the shining ivory. He cleared his throat, and raised his voice.  
  
"Gentlemen! As you may notice, we have grown larger and stronger since we last convened. The Dark Lord's return is imminent, and any who disagree shall be killed!" A few murmurs of agreement were heard throughout the mob of black robes. While it could be argued that the Lord Voldemort was the better speaker than Malfoy senior, there was no denying the power of Lucius' voice. He spoke as if he was pronouncing sentence.  
  
"Silence! It is time for us to remind those mudbloods and muggle lovers who really is in charge here! It will be our lord, the Dark King, who will rise from his defeat in less than three months! I would say that he would be most unhappy to find how seriously lagging we are." He played this word on his lips, quite aware of its full implications, and mocking them.  
  
"We will beg for the Lord's forgiveness!" Yelled one robe in the back. He coughed, and adjusted his mask.  
  
"Fool! Never disrupt me!" Lucius glared at the whole crowd of masks, it was a general warning. "We must begin a long series of attacks, to lower the moral of the people!" Murmurs, louder this time, agreed. The stray voice shrank a bit, leaning against a wall. He watched through the narrow slits of his white mask, identical to the rest, and cheered. It was not in one's best interest to make themselves noticed at these assemblies.  
  
Malfoy waited, paused until the roar of the white masks, black robes, was sufficiently quieted to a din. "We have learned from our mistakes. Years" he pronounced this word as if it burned as it came off his tongue. "We have waited, following our master's command. But we don't just want fear anymore. Power! Power, is what we hunger for. We will have it! We will not blindly kill for now! No! We will take hostages. Power, bargaining chips. Now, go! There is much ahead. Our master is soon to return."  
  
~*~  
  
Harry knew it would have to happen eventually. There was no way to hide from the fact that he would need to go into Diagon Alley to get supplies for the cure. He mentally hit himself for not thinking of a better solution. But it couldn't be helped.  
  
He sighed and put on his one dirty robe. If he pulled the hood low enough, it was possible to conceal his identity.  
  
Harry tiredly walked out the hotel, and to the Leaky Cauldron. He passed children, grasping hands and giggling. Young business elite pushed out doors using their shoulder, too busy to even wait for a helping hand. They would make their own help. Harry walked past another shop, conglomerated, just a replica, attempting to have the original soul. He saw a homeless man, asking for work, not begging. Even sitting on the corner of a busy London street, he hadn't lost his dignity. Harry double turned, and emptied out his pocket of all the muggle money he had.  
  
The man didn't say anything, but even after Harry left the street, he could still remember those piercing eyes, too alive to possibly be human. They seemed to dart in two different places at once. Harry had muttered a word of caution to the man. "Be careful of the night."  
  
The man had ticked his head in response. "Terrible things are coming." His voice was creaky, not fitting for the active eyes, which resided on the same face.  
  
Where would all these people go when they found out? The war, the danger, was becoming too great for the wizards to hide. But even if the streets emptied of fanciful children, and busy yes-men, Harry knew one thing would stay; the man. It was just a quick glance, but Harry had seen the permanence in his eyes. Some things would never change.  
  
~*~  
  
Three bricks up, two across, and the wall opened into a magical world, at least, that's how Harry remembered it. He walked down Diagon Alley to one of the stores, Magical Instruments, Unlimited.  
  
When he pushed the door, he heard no familiar chiming, so common in the other world that he straddled. He turned to the side where a young witch was standing at a counter. "I'd like an Orb of Thesulah." he said to her. She gave him a peculiar face, and turned behind the counter to get it.  
  
"Interesting choice, isn't it?" she said, as she began to wrap it in paper. He grunted in reply. "Used for magic involving the living dead. Peculiar, no doubt."  
  
"Yes. Good to see someone so knowledgeable. Good day, ma'am." He put the money from his pocket on the counter and left with the package securely wrapped and charmed in his hand.  
  
~*~  
  
Harry sat quietly in the corner of the Leaky Cauldron, not drinking, just watching. His packages sitting to the left, resting comfortably on his leg. The key to Ginny's soul sat in the small paper bag, wrapped up and charmed. An Orb of Thesulah. The atmosphere of the room was devastating. Hermione had spoken slightly of the changes the wizarding world had gone through in her letters, but he never could have imagined the truth. Pure fear. Could this have been the place that he had originally first become aware of the wizarding world? It made him hunch his back from the premature weight. The only thing Harry could think about was who was to blame. Was it Voldemort? Or was it Harry himself, too eager to abandon his people?  
  
"No," Harry whispered to himself. "These were never my people."  
  
He continued to watch the customers for some time, until he grew bored and stared at the flames of the fire to his left. They danced, and illuminated his face. to a broad, horrible countenance. His features were puffy, from the nightly torture of alcohol, while his eyes blazed with fury. This combination gave Harry a look of pure disgust. For himself; for what he had become.  
  
He looked up from the flames, his eyes dying down to their normal green. Strange, he thought. These men, talking to the barkeep, who were they? They turned and faced the rest of the room, their white masks glowing with the light from the fire.  
  
Someone screamed. A crucio was heard from under a mask, and the screams amplified. They laughed, a soft murmur under the ivory.  
  
One of them, the leader, Harry supposed, started ordering the other Death Eaters about, and then Harry saw nothing. Just glowing white masks turn to black, in a swirl of unconsciousness.  
  
  
  
~*~  
  
When Harry awoke, he was well aware of his situation. He almost willed his body not to awaken, it would keep him safe in a dream-like slumber. But the pain against his wrists was too great, and he opened an eye.  
  
He seemed to be in a holding cell in a dungeon. This was made obvious by the brush of dank cold air against his leg.  
  
There were thick cement walls separating Harry from the other hostages. There must have been other hostages. Harry started ticking off ideas in his mind. Wards to keep the prisoners captive in their cells, sound blocking charms to inhibit communication, and most surely, a guard. Harry looked up through the bars of his confinement and saw a man in a black robe pacing the hall. His red hair was slipping out of the side of his mask.  
  
"So. Someone has awoken." the mask said. He turned away from the cell, coughed, and pivoted back to his audience.  
  
The man leaned closer to the bars, his mask expressionless, though, under it was a look of fear, surprise and recognition.  
  
"Ah! The famous Harry Potter has returned!" The man grabbed his wand, and gripped it tightly. "What an honor it will be to tell my master when he returns that we have captured you. He will surely honor us. Of course, not that you ever really mattered. You're just a name. Something to lower the moral of the wizarding world. To lose what little faith they had left in you." He coughed again. "They say that there is no hope anymore. We have stolen it. Siphoned it, we are slowly killing the people. Your people, Potter."  
  
"I hold no value to them." He spoke through clinched teeth, his eyes starting to blur from the pain against his wrists.  
  
"Yes, they say that is true. The muggle-lovers and mudbloods have no savior anymore. And I'm sure my lord won't make you a martyr." He pulled off his mask.  
  
"Percy.." Harry started, but the man continued.  
  
"Drinking away his life, the papers all scream of it, when there's no news. No news of us. You're damned. No one cares anymore, not about you. Just a name. Mentioned twice in the text books. Classic tale of the hero. The poor hero, the one who couldn't take it anymore." He smiled, and brought his face close to Harry's. His breath reeked of bile, and garlic, and whiskey. Harry knew that smell. "Died a common man's death. Begging for mercy from the hand of his better."  
  
"I never asked to be the hero." Harry muttered this under his breath. It resonated through the cold air.  
  
"No! No, of course not. But you did the job so very well. Played old Dumbledore's little errand boy. You stupid fool. Where did it get you in the end?" The man lowered his voice now. "You're not a threat anymore. You're nothing. Abandoned life. Drunken, whoring in the nights. Are you still the great, marvelous Harry Potter?" He laughed. Cold, cruel. He had learned master's laugh. "I can bet that Dumbledore never promised you this." He made a grand gesture, sweeping at the walls. It was familiar to Harry.  
  
"I knew." His voice was cracked. In fact, it wasn't even meant to be said. But it did.  
  
"You knew. Oh, of course, you knew. I suppose you felt as long as it was for the good of another, that you would be fine. Fine with losing your life; your lover."  
  
"Your sister, also." It was all a game, and Harry finally fought back.  
  
"My sister? Oh, yes, I suppose we did share the common trait, our hair. But while she desired seeing your power, I wanted some of my own."  
  
"And did you get it?"  
  
Percy reached his hand through the bars. He grabbed Harry by the chin. "What the hell kind of question is that?! What do you mean by that?!"  
  
"Did you get your power? The power you were willing to sacrifice your life for? To brand your clean arm for? Did you get it?" He pushed himself back towards the wall. "How does it live up? Eh?"  
  
Percy's eyes shrank, and he pulled his mask back on. "Oh yes, I got it, my power. Now comes the question of how I should use it. But no matter. You shall be great show, either way."  
  
~*~  
  
Hermione knocked on the peeling door, and waited. It was raining, but she didn't really care. A woman opened the door, her face blank, but her eyes rimmed in red, her light red hair pulled back into a messy bun.  
  
"Come in, dear." said the woman, wiping her hands on the apron she was wearing. They were already clean. The woman, Molly Weasley, had once used this word, dear, in true love, but now it just slipped off her tongue, falling to the wet splattered ground.  
  
Hermione walked into the house, and took a seat in the kitchen, nine seats and only two were filled; Arthur Weasley was at work, Charlie was away. "Probably playing with the damn dragons again." Hermione thought to herself. Mrs. Weasley numbly served Hermione a piece of pie, her arms moving, but rigidly, and maybe with a hint of shake in them. Hermione looked across the table at Bill, the oldest of the Weasley children. His eyes were hard and his face bore lines, but more than was to be expected of a young forty-year old.  
  
She pushed the pie away, and glanced at the clock sitting in the corner of the kitchen. It still seemed to be the most majestic thing in the house itself, standing tall at a good seven feet. Ten hands were on the clock, as Harry had been added into the clock after his fifth year. For Harry, it had meant acceptance into a true family. Hermione had to turn away from the face of the clock, or risk seeing the look of true joy that he wore when he saw his name on the clock. He haunted her, sometimes joyful and other times morose.  
  
She didn't even need to see where most of the hands lay. Charlie's was on "work," Ginny, Fred and George were on "hospital." Ron's was facing the position that the number one filled on a muggle clock, sitting dangerously close to "mortal peril." "The Great Beyond" it read simply, but for Hermione, it reminded her of everything she had lost. Out of all the hands on the clock, Ron's would never move again. Some things would never change. Even as much as people would like them to. Hermione looked down at her plate.  
  
"It's been 10 years." she said simply. Mrs. Weasley choked back a sob. "Since Ron died."  
  
Bill rubbed his eyes tiredly. "We know, Hermione, we can count."  
  
She scowled at him. "But this year, it's different." She seemed desperate. Sighing, she continued. "I don't think you truly realize what Harry went through. I don't think anyone does."  
  
Bill looked up from his tea, which he had been spinning for the past ten minutes, watching the leaves swirl. "What about us, Hermione? My family is dead, insane, or...evil. What can you say about Percy, Hermione? Is having a corrupted brother worse than a lost love?!" He delicately swirled the tea again, and looked at the leaves. He thought he saw an axe, no, maybe an open bag, a boat, a cross. He never really put much credence in divination, but he remembered one thing- the cross, suffering, sacrifice. He snorted and began to turn the cup again. Bill did not need a bloody cup of wet leaves to tell him that.  
  
Bill stopped, and slammed the cup on the table, his face shining with spilled tea. "What gives Harry the right to be worse than us? He's not living this, he's not here, watching his friends slowly lose everything, his classmates become desperate. Even people I hate, they're all dying. And I have no time to mourn. Not for the loved, nor the hated."  
  
He paused. Hermione thought she saw a tear, but it must have just been the tea, which he hadn't bothered wiping up. "Dear God, nothing is fair, don't you see? This is life, Hermione. Our family has had more than our share of sadness, but we're trying to deal with it, everyone is. You've been away too long to see."  
  
Hermione looked into her hands and sighed. "Even if you are coping, you're not. Not really. You're killing something, something else. And even then, you're not dealing with your pain. None of us understand how to take it. Harry, Harry, the hero, he's the worst. And I'm cold. I am just as angry as you. But at least you all have each other to love. I have nothing."  
  
Mrs. Weasley clicked her tongue. "And when did you realize this, dear?" There was the word again.  
  
Hermione thought, staring at the clock in front of her. It had Harry and Hermione's hands on it now, a sign of their adoption into the clan several years ago, though it seemed longer. She blanched, and looked Molly Weasley straight in the face. "When Harry came to visit me yesterday."  
  
She thought she heard a gasp, and diverted her eyes back to the pie, still untouched. When she looked up at Mrs. Weasley though, her eyes were not on Hermione's own face. They were staring at the same place as the man in the room. Staring straight at a glittering gold hand, at the hand on the clock labeled "Harry," slowly moving north towards mortal peril.  
  
A tinkle of china was heard, and Hermione's vision turned from the glittering gold of the clock's hand to a cold black, that of nothingness.  
  
Somewhere in the depths of St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, a red headed woman moaned hopelessly.  
  
Be a responsible reader, review, please!  
  
AXE - difficulties; if at top overcoming of difficulties BAG - a trap; if open, escape* BOAT - visit from a friend, protection CROSS - suffering, sacrifice http://www.crystalinks.com/tealeaves.html 


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